


i'll get what i want, you see

by soislibre



Series: AFTG Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Blow Jobs, Burlesque, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Semi-Public Sex, and that is the craic, listen..., this is gratuitous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soislibre/pseuds/soislibre
Summary: The Foxhole isn't the most popular club by any means. But its performers aregood.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: AFTG Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815703
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84
Collections: All For The Game Bingo 2020





	i'll get what i want, you see

**Author's Note:**

> [ this is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuTDKlyXbQg) you wanna be listening to for jeremy's Moment. title also comes from that song.

The Foxhole is not an incredibly popular club, as far as they go. The client base they have is solid and big enough, though, that they do well. And they’re known for having some of the best regular dancers in the city. It doesn’t hurt. Each of them has their own kind of fan, because they each appeal to a different kind of person; Dan scares the hell out of anyone she looks at wrong, but she’s unbelievably flexible, her smile is infectious, and if her boyfriend is to be believed, she can suffocate a grown man with her thighs; Allison is slim and petite, but the look on her face tells everyone in the audience that she’s better than them, she knows it, and therefore she’s unattainable. Nicky Hemmick is practically a veteran; he’s been there since the club opened, and he’s never had a bad night. His dark eyes and dirty smile can do a lot to a roomful of people in a very short time. His husband picks him up from work every night and always stays to help clean up. 

Neil, a small redhead in the world’s most codependent relationship with one of the club’s even smaller bartenders, has a delicate face, piercing blue eyes, and a twisted scar under his left eye. He and Andrew are fiercely protective of one another, which means that when he’s not on stage Neil spends a lot of time perched on the bar, chatting to anyone who smiles at him, with Andrew’s hand on his thigh and a drink that they both share (because neither of them is supposed to drink on shift) balanced in his hand. If Andrew isn’t working, Neil won’t be there. That’s how people learn to identify whether the bartender is Andrew or his twin Aaron.

And then there’s Jeremy. Jeremy has always been one of Jean’s favourites. It’s not just because he’s good, although he really is. It’s because he can connect with his audience without even trying. Jeremy on and off stage bubbles with light and energy. He smiles, and his normal smiles are blinding, but the sparkle in his eyes when someone _makes_ him smile reminds Jean of staring at the sun. He always wears tank tops with armholes that drop stupidly low, shorts verging on too short, socks with his sandals. He’s the definition of a dumb jock both in everyday life and onstage. Jean still can’t figure out whether it’s repellent or painfully hot. 

On Jean’s first night working at the Foxhole, Jeremy had searched him out before the club opened to say hello to him. Jean had loathed him on sight. It had taken a good couple of weeks for Jeremy to worm his way past Jean’s defenses, and only another week after that for Jean to break down and kiss him after closing one night.

It had been unexpected. For everyone.

But it worked. When Jeremy’s lease had ended six months later, he’d packed up what little remained at his place and moved in with Jean and his roommate.

* * *

On his way out one night, Jeremy kisses Jean and tells him tonight’s going to be a good night. Jean thinks exactly nothing of it. Jeremy says something like that pretty much every night, because he’s relentlessly optimistic. Just because it _is_ more often than not a good night, does not make him right always.

Jeremy always leaves before Jean does, because he likes to warm up, run through whatever he’s doing, talk to the others. Jean does not want to talk to the others, so he arrives ten minutes before his shift, smokes a cigarette with Matt - Dan’s boyfriend and the other bouncer he always ends up on shift with - and goes backstage to kiss Jeremy before Jeremy goes out. This time, when he knocks at the dressing room, Jeremy sticks his head out just enough to lean up and kiss the tattoo on Jean’s cheekbone, then gives him a rushed excuse about not being ready and disappears back inside. It’s bullshit, because Jeremy is never running late, but Jean lets it slide because _he’s_ running late.

It’s a busy night. Jean nearly misses when Jeremy comes onstage. The only reason he doesn’t is because Matt glances inside and nudges him to go watch. He thinks about holding off for a second because the queue is unbelievable, but then the music starts with a lone bass, and the chatter in the room dips almost immediately, expectant silence settling. So he slides away, stepping in through the glass interior door and past the heavy curtains that separate it from the outside. There’s a steady, calm jazz rhythm going, a voice like silk sliding across his skin, and Jeremy is right there. His blonde hair _glows_ in soft, warm lighting, there’s definitely glitter on his face, his mouth is glossy and it curls into a knowing grin when he spots Jean in the corner. 

Jean just about swallows his tongue.

There’s a weird dualism about the scene in front of him; Jeremy is wrapped in a sweater that slides off one shoulder, sleeves rolled up just to get them to his wrists, his shorts are, for once, not sport shorts but seem an awful lot like silk and therefore are probably Allison’s. He has soft-looking grey socks pulled up over his knees. And sneakers, because obviously. They’re less obnoxiously jock-y when they’re paired with everything else. He looks cosy, comfortable, _soft_. Off-guard. Even his song choice is gentle tonight. It’s a show designed to punch Jean in the gut, and it sure as hell does that. Every move Jeremy makes drags him a little deeper. He wants to move further into the room, but he’s not an idiot; he and Matt can watch from the door, but they stay close enough that if they’re needed outside they can slip out again. 

So he leans against the wall and he watches as Jeremy bends over to slide his shoes off, glancing over his shoulder when he straightens up again. His smile is dangerous. His sweater slips a little further down his shoulder and his cheeks flush, perfectly timed - which Jean _hates_ \- as he slides it back into place and bites his lower lip. There’s a low whistle from somewhere in the room; Jeremy fucking winks in response. Jean wonders what an aneurysm feels like.

By the time the first chorus comes around, Jeremy’s sweater is puddled on the floor, his hands are in his hair, and Jean is going to scream as he watches Jeremy’s back muscles shift with every movement. When Jeremy goes to his knees, fingers _just_ dipping under the waistband of his shorts, the atmosphere grows heavier. Even Andrew pauses what he’s doing for just a second; his gaze never strays from disinterested. Neil passes him their drink and leans forward, elbows on his knees as he watches Jeremy curiously.

He’s always been good, but this is something new. This is Jeremy stripped down even before he’d removed his sweater. It’s meant to feel like this is something he’s doing for every person there individually, and it’s working. Jean’s skin is too tight; he’s simmering with energy, and then Jeremy rocks onto his feet again and slides out of his shorts. The reaction is instant, and in response to the sudden noise Jeremy presses his fingers against his mouth, teeth catching on the tips of a couple, and smiles sunnily.

Jean barely even _registers_ the rolls of Jeremy’s hips, the way his stomach muscles tense and the fact that he thinks Jeremy keeps his socks on the whole time (which, he’s decided, shouldn’t be allowed because he knows exactly how Jeremy’s calves look and it’s sinful). He’s watching Jeremy’s hands; watching them comb through his hair, watching his fingers slide into his mouth, watching them spread on his thighs as he comes to rest on his knees again and the music ends. The fucking uproar startles Jean out of his trance; he blinks a couple of times, realises his mouth is open. Neil appears at his side, mouth twisted in a knowing smile, and presses a glass into his hand. Jean drains it.

The redhead drags him down with a hand fisted in the collar of his shirt, and informs him very meanly that he’s hard and not being subtle about it. Jean smacks his hand away, straightens up, and offers Andrew a middle finger when the bartender hurls a handful of ice cubes at his head. Neil saunters back to the bar to touch Andrew’s cheek gently, then fucks off backstage and leaves Jean and Andrew glaring daggers at each other. It’s effective for killing his semi, at least.

It takes a whole lot of self-control not to ditch the door immediately, but Jean is still far too wary of getting into shit, despite how long he’s been at the Foxhole and how chill its management is. Old habits die hard, after all, and he hasn’t made it this far by not following orders. So he waits. He waits until Matt goes on break, which takes a good fucking hour and is the biggest mistake of his life. His foot is tapping impatiently against the floor by the time Matt returns, and he’s turning away probably every third group of people just because he feels like it. The moment Matt appears next to him with a grin, an apology for taking so long, and a lit cigarette that he hands over, Jean is _out_ of there. He has just enough presence of mind to say something about his break, which in all fairness is long overdue, before he’s dragging in a slightly too-deep lungful of smoke, handing the cigarette back and disappearing inside as he exhales.

Andrew’s still behind the bar when he gets inside - he only knows it’s Andrew and Aaron hasn’t taken over because who the fuck else wears long sleeves in a busy club? - and the look he gets on his way past actually makes him stop and turn around. He’s not 100% sure if he wants to hit Andrew for that look or not, but it doesn’t matter, because by the time he gets back to the bar, Andrew has two shots waiting for him. The blonde flicks his fingers dismissively and stares over Jean’s shoulder at the redhead on the stage. He knows when he’s being sent away. He’s also not stupid enough to distract Andrew from keeping an eye on Neil. Everyone knows Andrew doesn’t trust some of the people who like Neil’s performances not to try to touch; and everyone also knows that as much as Neil is more than capable of handling that himself - as has been proven a hundred times - Andrew still watches for more reasons than just the way Neil looks with his hair mussed and his high cheekbones gleaming with sweat under stage lights.

Just to be sure that Andrew knows he’s on thin fucking ice, Jean glares at him as he scoops up the two small glasses and turns on his heel. It very clearly doesn’t get through, but it makes him feel a little better.

The club is just a little too busy for his liking; the press of bodies and the cloying warmth makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle up. If he weren’t so focused on pushing through the crowd, he would probably just go back to the door and forget all about his break. But he has an end goal, and the adrenaline that comes from being in a crowded room is doing nothing to make him forget about that end goal. It just makes his stomach knot pleasantly, a shiver trickling down his spine as he shoulders through the door that takes him backstage.

Allison, wearing a combination of what looks horribly like black electrical tape and also a lot of _fringe,_ is sprawled across two chairs near the dressing room as he knocks at the door; she raises her head just long enough to take in the look in his eyes and the glasses in his hand, then drops it back down and flaps her hand over towards the opposite side of the stage. “He’s over there with Renee,” she tells him sleepily, just as Dan sticks her head out of the dressing room and takes one of the shots from him before he can protest. He glowers at the door when it closes again, leaving him one drink down and not happy about it, but honestly his time is limited and drink theft is the least of his concerns.

When he finally catches sight of Jeremy, he swears viciously under his breath, immediately thankful for the music that drowns it out. Clearly Jeremy wants to kill him. His hair is messy, pushed away from his face by a headband and sticking up in a million different directions. There’s still glitter on his face and his collarbones, mingling with sweat until he’s shining even in the semi-darkness. The idiot hasn’t even bothered to get properly _dressed_. He’s still wearing the obscene shorts, the giant sweater; his sneakers are unlaced. One sock is sliding down his calf but has he bothered to pull it up? No, because he wants Jean to spontaneously combust. Which he thinks he’s about two seconds away from doing. Renee must see something in Jean’s face because she squeezes Jeremy’s forearm, nods in Jean’s direction, and disappears with a grin. Jean could kiss her for it.

Jeremy’s face brightens almost cartoonishly when he sees Jean. He bounces over, rocks up onto his tiptoes to curl a hand around the back of Jean’s neck and kiss him sweetly. “Did you see me?” he asks, as he always does. Jean nods, as he always does. One day Jeremy will actually realise that he always watches, no matter how busy they are. But, hey, he’s not complaining, because when he nods, Jeremy smiles, a full smile that’s all white teeth and quiet pride in himself, and Jean can’t help but kiss him again just to taste that smile.

Jeremy laughs into his mouth as Jean presses the shot glass into the hand not currently scratching blunt nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. He breaks away just long enough to swallow half of whatever the fuck Andrew had given them, and Jean watches, openmouthed and intent, as his throat works through the swallow. Then, because he’s insufferable, Jeremy presses the rim of the glass against Jean’s lower lip and tilts it, tipping the remainder into his open mouth. 

It’s _disgusting_. It’s too sweet, but it also burns viciously on its way down, and something about it is also sour? Jean makes a mental note to kill Andrew later. For right now, the look on his face has made Jeremy shake with laughter, and that’s doing very strange things when they’re plastered together. He kisses Jeremy, leaning down until Jeremy has to arch a little, drape himself fluidly over the arm that snakes around the small of his back to keep him close, and although he hears the glass fall from Jeremy’s hand, it doesn’t break so he doesn’t care. Not when he’s more intent on crowding Jeremy backwards, hands tight on his slim hips, until Jeremy’s back crashes into the wall and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Not here,” he murmurs, as if Jean is going to listen when Jeremy is twitching his hips up like that. “ _Jean_. Someone will hear.”

Jean bites his lower lip and Jeremy’s mouth falls open on a moan Jean has to swallow as the volume of the music dips. “Be quiet, then.”

Jeremy doesn’t protest again. Not when Jean slides a hand into his tiny shorts, not when Jean presses his mouth to the side of Jeremy’s throat and sucks, not when he grazes his teeth over the reddened skin. He’s not silent, because Jeremy is physically incapable of being silent. But the noises he makes are, at least, muffled by the hand he presses against his mouth when Jean cups his dick and squeezes lightly.

“Allison will cut your dick off if I ruin these shorts,” Jeremy manages to say. He’s right, but Jean wishes he weren’t. He has to take his hand away to pull the fucking things down just enough to get Jeremy’s dick out. The blonde hisses and arches away from the wall just long enough to peel his sweater off as well. He’s still sweating. Jean dips down and sweeps his tongue over a nipple, and Jeremy bites down fairly unsuccessfully on a yelp that earns him a grin and a rough _shhh_ from Jean, even as he does it again.

Jean still can’t quite fucking believe that Jeremy is wearing a jockstrap - he’s such a shitty jock that Jean should be used to this by now, but he’s not and it makes him roll his eyes so hard it hurts as he gestures to it. Jeremy presses his laugh against the corner of Jean’s mouth in lieu of another kiss, wriggling the elastic off his hips and letting it slide down to his mid thigh to join the shorts. “I hate these things,” Jean informs him, and Jeremy shrugs unapologetically.

“Didn’t ask for feedback.”

Jean nips at his earlobe in retaliation, pushing a thigh between Jeremy’s and lifting a hand to slide his fingers into Jeremy’s mouth. Jeremy sucks so eagerly it makes his head spin, tongue twisting between them, curling and wrapping around each finger as his cheeks hollow and his eyes flutter closed. They’re both hard enough to break fucking diamonds by the time Jean actually takes his hand back and drops it to curl his slick fingers around Jeremy’s cock. That first touch, spit already cool on his skin, makes Jeremy moan until Jean presses his other hand against Jeremy’s mouth. “Are you _trying_ to get me fired?” he hisses. Blue eyes blink at him over his hand, innocent, then Jeremy tilts his head, drags his open mouth across Jean’s palm, and sucks his fingers into his mouth again. His eyes flutter closed, the expression on his face so delighted it’s like this is the only thing he needs to get him off, and Jean nearly forgets that he had a game plan which did not involve this.

He gives Jeremy a couple of strokes, then slips his hand out of his mouth and points a finger at him. Spit shines on his skin. “Quiet.” Jeremy nods obediently, and then Jean lowers himself onto his knees. The noise Jeremy lets out, even with his own hand pressed against his mouth, is loud enough for Jean to hear over the music. They both freeze for a second; Jeremy’s face is horrified at the idea of stopping, but there’s no footsteps or anything so Jean shrugs and goes to town.

He spits crudely onto the head of Jeremy’s dick, rubs his thumb over it and spreads the slickness down the length. Jeremy’s thighs are twitching, and when he looks up, Jeremy’s gaze is _fixed_ on him as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second. Which is doing great things for his ego. When he points to Jeremy’s hand, Jeremy nods, opens his mouth and presses the pads of two fingers onto his tongue, and seals his lips around them. So that’s the noise hopefully taken care of, although he knows how loud Jeremy gets when Jean blows him and he’s curious to see how well that contingency will hold. 

There’s a series of catcalls from the other side of the wall as Jean slides his mouth down Jeremy’s cock, fingers circled at the base as a gentle reminder to Jeremy not to fucking twitch. He bobs his head once; when Jeremy moans, he does it again, and again, and his other hand slides up Jeremy’s lean thigh to hold one of his hips tight. His gaze flickers upwards to watch as Jeremy’s face drops, mouth falling open and fingers slipping away. Really, he should be warning Jeremy against that again, but god, his mouth is damp and pink and his teeth catch at his lower lip in a dirty smile when he catches Jean looking, so actually he doesn’t _want_ Jeremy to cover that up.

Neil’s music is reaching its peak - it’s a rough, bass-driven rock song and Jean takes advantage of how loud it is to press his fingers just behind Jeremy’s balls at the same moment that he swallows. Jeremy jumps, body drawn tight as a bowstring, and the broken groan is only just muffled by the back of his hand against his mouth.

His other hand slides into Jean’s hair and curls tightly. Jean sits with that for a minute. Jeremy’s dick is full and heavy and twitching on his tongue, he hollows his cheeks, sucking teasingly, and his fingers press until Jeremy is pleading with him even though now the music has faded to just low level background noise and it puts them in much more danger of being overheard.

“Jean, baby, honey please.” He sounds wrecked already, voice hoarse and shaky. “Come on, sweetheart, we don’t have time, please just _fucking get me off_.”

Because Jeremy is right, and because Jean is _nice_ , he does exactly that. He jerks the base of Jeremy’s dick as he sucks, and because he’s _really goddamn nice_ he relaxes his jaw as much as he can and tilts his head to swallow Jeremy down. It’s wet and messy and there’s a mixture of spit and pre-come coating his hand. All that does is slick the way so that when he dips down to mouth at Jeremy’s balls, the movement of his hand as it takes over is smooth and he can afford to curl his fingers a little tighter. Jeremy sobs above him - Jean looks up and his white teeth are sunk into his wrist - and that sound is a telltale warning that he’s about to come so Jean takes his dick back into his mouth because there isn't exactly another option right now. The sound Jeremy makes hits a little different when there’s an audience full of people cheering Nicky on, and Jean sticks a hand into his pants to tug himself off as Jeremy curls over like he’s been punched, yanks at Jean’s hair and lets out a high, wordless sound, and the first rope of come hits the back of Jean’s tongue. He jerks back just a little, sucking Jeremy through it so that there won’t be a single stain on Allison’s stupid shorts, until Jeremy straightens up again, sags back into the wall and Jean’s gaze darts up. He pulls off only because Jeremy swears under his breath and uses the grip on his hair to push him back, and presses his cheek against Jeremy’s thigh to watch him come down.

It takes a painfully long time. Jeremy is trembling, his face so blissed out he already looks half-asleep, and Jean groans helplessly into Jeremy’s inner thigh as his hand works a little faster, twisting his grip. He’s so fucking close he thinks he might die, and then Jeremy nudges at his elbow with the toe of his shoe, clicking his tongue, and slides down the wall and _into Jean’s lap._ His eyes are half-lidded, and his smile sleepy, but he curls one arm around Jean’s neck, spits into his palm, and Jean takes his hand away so Jeremy can replace it with his own. Their kiss is messy; it’s wet slides of tongue, it’s Jean’s teeth catching very lightly at Jeremy’s lower lip, it’s Jeremy catching and swallowing the moan Jean lets out as Jeremy’s grip tightens a little. When Jean’s hips fuck up into the circle of his fingers it’s so overwhelming he has to stop kissing Jeremy because he doesn’t trust him to muffle the sound threatening to burst out of him. Jeremy doesn’t seem to mind at all. He smiles and lets Jean latch onto the curve of his throat, licking the sweat off his tanned skin, biting just to make Jeremy shiver, and his wrist twists, flicks; he swipes his thumb over the head of Jean’s dick and he _whispers_ in Jean’s ear, his voice sweet and dripping with honey. Jean’s face is hot, his breathing ragged, and he arches and ruts up against Jeremy just once more before everything shatters around him. He _thinks_ he keens, because it’s either him or Jeremy, but one of those is more likely than the other at this stage. Either way, he’s hoping it’s muffled enough by his mouth pressed into Jeremy’s shoulder, teeth bared and throat tight. 

Jeremy doesn’t stop moving until Jean twitches irritably and bites him, and then he uncurls his fingers slowly and eases his hand out of Jean’s pants with a laugh. Jean rolls his head to the side just enough to watch as Jeremy sticks his fingers in his mouth, then has to close his eyes again because if he looks he _will_ die. He feels the next rumble of laughter through Jeremy’s chest before the blonde settles back, curling his legs around Jean’s waist and leaning his back against the wall to catch his breath. Jean has to readjust when his feet start falling asleep; he slides his hands under Jeremy and wriggles until _his_ back is against the wall and Jeremy can lean against him, head tucked into Jean’s shoulder while they recover. Jeremy combs the fingers of his actually clean hand through Jean’s hair, lets him catch his breath in blissful fucking silence, and then, when Jean shifts again underneath him, straightens up with a sunny grin.

“Round two?” Jean glowers at him and he cracks up as he stands, tugs his shorts back up, stretches. He offers Jean a hand, pulling him to his feet with a strength that has long since ceased to be surprising.

“That fuckin’ rocked. Let’s do it again sometime,” Jeremy continues blithely, to Jean’s exasperation, before he leans up to touch a quick kiss to Jean’s bitten lips. “Guess there’s something about being quiet, huh?”

He’s so fucking annoying with his stupid Southern drawl. “Ouais, because you _can’t_ be quiet,” Jean gripes. Jeremy rolls his eyes and flips Jean off, then cups his chin to pull Jean’s head down to his level so he can murmur in his ear.

“I don’t see you complaining about that when you’re _begging_ me to talk you through it,” he reminds Jean quietly, and Jean feels Jeremy’s mouth curl into a playful grin when he shudders in response. It’s hard to deny, so he doesn’t try. He does pinch Jeremy’s waist, making him twist away from his fingers with a yelp, then wraps his arm around the blonde’s shoulders so he can press his face into his curls. After a moment of standing like that, Jeremy’s breath puffing warmly against his collarbone, jaw cracking when he yawns, Jean sighs and kisses the top of his head.

“Get your sweater and go change.” Last entry was ten minutes ago and Matt’s owed him a closing up for a few weeks, since he and Dan had dipped early for the exact same reason Jean’s planning to leave tonight. Jeremy pulls the muddle of fabric over his head and slips away, expertly dodging Jean’s hands when he reaches for him again. His laughter fades away and Jean grins as he heads back out to let Matt know he’s leaving. Turns out it has been a good night, and they’re sure as hell not done yet.

**Author's Note:**

> not to be horny on main but i think i miss sucking dick
> 
> tell me how much of a slut i am on [tumblr](https://jeanmoreaun.tumblr.com)
> 
> as always, endless gratitude to [tara](https://euripiides.tumblr.com) for being my beta


End file.
